The Twelfth Hour Has Struck
by LucyFireTen
Summary: The Doctor regenerated. Follow his adventures in space and time as he discovers the man he has become. Will he and Clara be able to deal with the changes? (I suck at summaries, it's better than it seems) TwelveXClara. Rating may change. Angst/Fluff/Adventure... bits of everything. Reviews, comments and critiques are welcome! Enjoy :)
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who. If I did, we wouldn't have to wait this much for S8.**

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"Do you happen to know how to fly this thing?"

Clara's eyes widened and her mouth fell open. She was still shocked by his sudden regeneration and all the events of that impossible Christmas Day and now, now he didn't even remember how to fly the TARDIS. This could be far too much.

"No." The Doctor said, "No no no. Wait. Ah!" he grinned "TARDIS! Time Lord!" his grin turned manic. "Yeah. Hmm…lever, yes!" he pulled down a lever. "And… this!" He pushed a button and the TARDIS's walls stopped shaking, and her sound turned into the gentle humming she made when they were in the Vortex.

"Here we are! Still and safe."

He proudly clapped his hands once to underline his success. In that moment he seemed to realize something, and he looked surprised. He gazed at his hands, eyes wide open, over-sized grey eyebrows raised:

"New hands! That's weird" he stated, examining the palms and the backs of his hands repeatedly. "Like them, though… let's see…" he took his fingertips to his neck, and slowly, almost shyly, he went up. "…oooh. Normal-sized chin! That's good. That's very good…" both his hands kept going up. "…hmm. I don't like the nose. Oh, but I've had worse. Eyes, two, very well. And…oooh yes, normal-sized ears too. Thank Rassilon. Love them. Hmm… hair…curly? Oh, it's been a while. Wait. I need a mirror."

And with that he turned on his heels and headed to the wardrobe in quick steps, without a single glance at Clara, who could simply blink, stunned, as she heard his steps trail off. She heard a door slam and then a distant voice shout in a sharp Scottish accent:

"_No! Not again! Again! I'm not ginger!_"

Clara sighed and leaned against the console, intending to wait for him, desperately trying to hold back her tears.

The young human understood that he had regenerated, she had known all his faces. And indeed he was always the same man, basically. Rationally, her brain did know all of this. But, sentimentally, her heart didn't care at all. She missed _her_ Doctor already. She missed his green puppy eyes, so young and so ancient at the same time. She missed his childish manners and his playful little smiles. She missed his stupid bowtie, his floppy hair and his ridiculous chin. Clara missed the man she had fallen in love with and given her life for, the man who was now buried somewhere behind the silver hair and the ice-blue eyes. Still, he was buried.

When the new Doctor didn't return for several minutes, Clara took a deep breath and decided to go look for him. She would have time to cry for her Doctor later: now, now this Doctor may need her, and she had to be there for him. Maybe it was hard -and, oh, it was- but she was his companion, and she had to be with him despite his face, despite everything.

Clara rubbed her wet cheeks with the sleeve of her shirt, and headed to the wardrobe.

In front of the door, she knocked. Twice, very gently.

"Doctor? Can…can I come in?"

"You can if you want" his new voice answered.

Clara opened the door and stepped inside, finding him in front of a full-length mirror: he had changed. He wore dark trousers and black shoes, a white shirt, a dark-blue vest and a jacket of the same blue, even if with red lining. He was now brushing his hair lightly, staring intently at his reflex:

He glanced at her by looking her reflex in the mirror.

"Hmm, silver hair" he said, "I think I like it. It was quite about time to grow up a little. I'm older this time. But you know what? I feel younger. Full of energy. New regeneration cycle." He rubbed his hands contently and turned towards her "I guess I'm…younger on the inside." He seemed to remember something all of a sudden, and smiled happily. "Clara." his grin grew wider. "My Clara."

His expression was light, tender, now so similar to her Doctor's one, and Clara noticed his ice-blue eyes weren't as cold as they seemed.

He stepped towards her and took a lightly shaking hand to her cheek. Clara covered his hand with hers and shivered as he gently caressed her face as her Doctor used to do.

"My Clara." He hadn't miss the fear and the concern in her eyes. "Same man. I'm the same man deep down."

Clara's hand left his and went to his cheek, barely brushing his jawline.

"You're not my ChinBoy anymore" she said in a trembling voice, eyes bright. She had thought she could do this, but now she realized that no, she wasn't ready. Actually hearing this man call her as _he _used to call her, feeling his hands touch her as _he_ used to touch her, was too much. Far, far too much.

His hearts stopped, and his gaze turned sad.

"I…I could still be your Doctor."

Clara said nothing. She seemed about to cry.

His hearts broke, at least a little bit. His predecessor would stop breathing and tremble slightly, his eyes would become bright with tears and he would beg her: please, please, don't leave me alone, I can't stay alone. But not this Doctor, no. His hearts had hardened during centuries protecting Trenzalore. He had become stronger. This incarnation wasn't going to be a sensitive, loving boy: his former self was fading, leaving him. He would maybe slightly resemble him for some minutes, but that man was dead.

The young Doctor with the bowtie was still a part of him, but he really was just this: one part of his complex personality, and not the part that was in charge now. That man was being buried, and every minute, every breath, every heartbeat was a little mass of earth thrown in his grave, on his corpse. Nonetheless, the same man was standing in front of Clara now, wearing a new outfit and a new face: same memories, same thoughts, same feelings. The same man.

This new Doctor knew who he wasn't, but he didn't know who he was yet. He needed time. But without doubt he was the Doctor, the same man, deep down. What he felt he could do was simply let Clara understand it as well. His Clara. His Impossible Girl. The same man, indeed.

He cupped her face with both hands and locked his eyes with hers, ice-blue meeting chocolate-brown for a second before she glanced away.

"Clara" he breathed, "My Clara. You are still my Impossible Girl. Clara… Look at me."

And finally, finally Clara looked, looked in those grey eyes and saw, just for an instant, a flash of green, a flash of her Doctor. Same centuries of pain and loss and regret, same wonder and curiosity and wanderlust, same selfishness and anger and hatred, same altruism and goodness and love. Same man, deep down.

"You're…you're still you" she said, two twin tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Yes. Still me."

Clara closed her eyes and flung her arms around his neck, burying her face against his chest and letting warm tears soak his jacket. The Doctor held her tight and kissed the top of her head.

"My Clara."

The old Doctor would probably break the embrace after a few seconds and make some joke, but this man was different. He hugged her tighter than ever, not embarrassed of physical contact or afraid of hurting her, and he didn't let go of her, letting her cry all her tears. His lips curved ever-so-slightly in a smile at the thought that, actually, she was crying for him. A past him, of course, but still him. New discovery: in this body, he was selfish. He didn't mind that much that she was crying: the woman he loved was holding him tight, crying for him, and he didn't even have to worry about some other man consoling her, because _he_ was consoling her. His lips curved a little more and his heart flipped contently. Wait. Heart? Singular? Oh, dammit. This wasn't good. This wasn't good at all.

"Aaah. C-Clara?"

Clara was just starting to calm down and try to stop her sobs.

"C-Clara…I've-I've…only one heart's working…aaah"

He pulled away from his companion and clutched at his chest, wincing in pain. He fell on his knees, then struggled to take himself standing again. Clara was shocked at the beginning, but after a few seconds she helped him on his feet. He was breathing heavily and his eyes were shut.

"Doctor, what do I do?" Clara asked, putting one of his arms around her shoulders and trying to support him.

He inhaled sharply and tried to find some strength to answer.

"Take me to the TARDIS's infirmary…pro-problem is I can't quite remember where the hell it was."

His former self wouldn't take this seriously. He would joke, find the ironic side, maybe he would even find this the slightest bit exciting, or even funny. This new Doctor, on the other hand, was not amused. Not remotely amused.

**A/N: Yes, I know I should be working on my other in-progress fic, but I have too many feelings about Twelve and Clara, mostly caused by all those pics on the internet with Jenna and Peter hugging, holding hands and doing Doctor-companion things. **

**This fic is rated T for now, but I may change it into M by popular demand. Just ask. Your wish is my command, as always :) Reviews, comments and critics are appreciated, they make me a better writer!**


	2. Chapter 2

"How is it that you keep forgetting things?" Clara asked, breathing heavily, doing her best to keep walking, the Doctor's weight almost fully on her shoulders.

"Side-effects of regeneration" he answered, supporting himself with one hand on the wall, "I-I need some sleep… my nerve cells need time to re-organize." He gasped, and a breathing of golden energy came from his mouth. "Aaah. Ho-how do you humans manage with only one heart? Ah, no. Wait. Next door on the right."

"Are you sure? It is at least the tenth door we-"

"It's the seventh, Clara, and yes, I'm sure." Not true. He still didn't remember where the infirmary was, and he was going random, but he would never admit it. Maybe, he was proud this time round.

Clara opened the door to find an unpretentious room, with a small single bed covered with dusty sheets and an old desk. On a battered bedside table there were a jug of water and a glass. Basically, a long-forgotten guest room.

"Doctor…" she began. It was becoming impossibly hard to bear his weight, and her shoulders were aching.

He sighed. "It's okay, Clara. I just need a bed."

With only one heart beating, his blood couldn't quite reach properly every part of his body. He felt tired and weak and he could not believe that he had been in perfect shape just a few minutes before. The side-effects of his regeneration had caught him off-guard, like a delayed-action bomb.

Clara helped him to sit on the bed and the Doctor barely left her the time to pull off his jacket before letting himself fall on the mattress.

"Doctor-" she began again.

"Shush. I don't have much time. I didn't realize at first, but it was a hard regeneration for me, Clara. New regeneration cycle. It wasn't supposed to happen… but it's okay" he added quickly, noticing concern on her face "I'll be fine. But I need to sleep. And…Clara, the TARDIS needs time to fix her face too. We shouldn't stay inside while she does that… and considered her antipathy for you… you wouldn't be safe, so don't wander off. She will be deleting and archiving rooms. Stand… stand by me."

Clara nodded slightly. She didn't want to have to deal with a quite hysterical, post-regeneration TARDIS. Plus, she wouldn't leave the Doctor alone anyway, not now that he felt…well, she didn't know how he felt, after regeneration and everything, but she had the feeling he needed her.

"I'll be right here, okay? You can rest, don't worry."

"Good." He said, closing his eyes and resting his hands on his chest.

It wasn't entirely true that she wasn't safe, because despite the TARDIS being quite temperamental, the ship would never let someone her thief loved risk her life. It was simply that the Doctor wanted Clara near him, because he needed her, even if this new face would never admit it.

He had always lied, and a lot, but he hadn't been so selfish in a while, he thought. Tough, if the result was Clara listening to him and standing by him like this, well, he just couldn't complain for this new version of himself. With this last thought, his lips curved in a little half-smirk, and he fell fast asleep.

Clara noticed his lips curve ever-so-slightly, and she wondered what he was thinking. Shortly after, his breath became regular and his whole body relaxed. As his right hand slipped down from his chest to the mattress, Clara instinctively knelt near the bed and took his hand in hers, squeezing it gently. Without realizing it, she placed her head on his chest and closed her eyes. Only when she heard his now both steadily-beating hearts she noticed her actions. She had been moving automatically. Maybe, deep inside, she knew that he was still the Doctor, after all. His double heartbeat helped her accept it, and she smiled, relaxing as he had done, and she leaned against the bed, adjusting herself in a more comfortable position.

Clara had been through a lot of things that mad Christmas. Emotionally, she had never been so tired. The mattress was soft, the Doctor's hand was warm against hers, and the regular rhythm of his hearts was lovingly lulling her: a minute after, she fell asleep without even noticing.

~oOo~

Clara awoke with a start, and somehow she knew that the walls had quaked and that she had heard loud noise in her sleep. The girl was still leaned against the bed, head on the Doctor's chest. He was still asleep, but he moved slightly and inhaled sharply, and Clara felt his heartbeats become somewhat erratic and faster.

It happened again: the whole TARDIS trembled and Clara noticed the previously gentle humming of the ship had turned into a dull noise. Eyes wide open, the girl glanced anxiously at the Time Lord who was simply stirring in his sleep, and still wasn't awake. The walls quaked again and she rapidly made a decision.

"Doctor" she called, gently shaking his shoulder, "Doctor, you need to wake up. Doctor!"

The walls quailed once more.

"Doctor! I'm… I'm getting really scared. _Doctor!_" she half-shouted.

The man suddenly opened his eyes and sat up.

"What?!" he exclaimed. "What is it?!"

The TARDIS shook again and her noise grew louder.

"Oh, no no no. This is bad."

"Doctor?"

"Shush, again, Clara, I don't have tim- aaah" -he winced- "My head. Listen, you woke me up too soon. It seems that the Old Girl won't be able to stay in the Vortex for some time. She wants to spare energy for her changes. We're still in the Vortex for now but we're slipping out. We'll land very soon. And, Clara, when we land… a lot of… _things_ can smell regeneration energy. A lot of devices can detect it, they were very popular in the Time War, you know, they used them to find you and kill you while you were still regenerat-"

"Doctor," Clara said, interrupting him, "you're babbling. You said you didn't have time."

"Oh, yes, thanks dear. We can't trust the Old Girl now: whatever comes, I think it could enter. And, Clara," he locked his eyes with hers, and the human saw concern and anxiety in his blue irises, "whatever comes, it comes for me and me only. You'll have to be brave, Clara."

"No" she whispered, already suspecting what he wanted her to do.

"Yes. Brave, brave Clara. You're not safe here with me." He took her hand and squeezed it hard. "You have to run, and hide. Don't stop, don't look behind."

"Doctor-"

"I will be fine. I think the Old Girl loves me enough to deadlock this door, and nothing should enter. But if I'm wrong, it will be dangerous and I don't want you to be here if it happens. I want you safe, Clara, because I…" -he stopped and shook his head lightly- "…you're very important to me, Clara. Much more than you think."

Her heart stopped. Did he mean…? No. No, he meant that she was his companion, for sure. It couldn't be anything else.

The TARDIS started to quake insistently and with increasing intensity.

"You must go, Clara. Leave now, it is a matter of seconds before we land."

"I-I don't want to leave you" she uttered, voice a bit broken.

"You must. Go."

"Doct-"

"I'm glad you already like this new me so much, Clara, but I thought you were the one who listened to me. Don't disappoint me now."

"You said it wasn't safe to wander off."

"True, but if something enters in the TARDIS it will head right here. The Old Girl suddenly deleting rooms and changing corridors could be a difficulty, but maybe it will also help you run from whatever enters. Now go, I can't stay… be awake for lo-"

They heard a loud crash, and the walls finally stayed still.

"Go. We landed. Half crash-landed, I think. Leave, you must be as far as possible from here."

The Doctor gave her hand a last squeeze and let her get up. Clara glanced at him one last time.

"Leave" he whispered, then he closed his eyes and laid still on the bed.

Clara understood he had passed out. He needed that sleep. The least she could do was letting him rest without worries, listening to him. The girl took a deep breath and opened the door.

~oOo~

After at least two hours wandering in the TARDIS, without a single clue on where she was as corridors kept changing and rooms kept disappearing, Clara calmed down a bit. She had been anxious and hesitant at first, but now, everything considered, things weren't going too bad. The ship was silent, no strange terrifying noises or other things that could make Clara suppose that something was wrong. The Old Girl was also behaving relatively well: the lights were still on almost everywhere, she had found only three blind alleys, and only one holographic lion.

Her steps the only sound in the empty corridor, the young human arrived at a spot where the lonely corridor parted into three. Clara spent a second to decide if she should go straight on, turn right or turn left. She shrugged, and turned right. The way got zigzag. She had to turn right, then left, then right again, then go straight on for a long while and finally turn right: Clara sighed with disappointment when she found just a wall. Dead point. She inwardly cursed the TARDIS and turned her back, retracing her steps.

As the girl got close to the point where the corridor parted, unexpectedly she heard something: a dull tump far away in the ship, which sounded incredibly similar to a door banging. Something being hit. The noise vibrated through the TARDIS's walls again and again, growing louder and louder, then suddenly stopped. At the point where Clara had turned right at first, she froze, utterly frightened. She was now distinctively hearing _voices_. _Voices_. Clara shuddered: if a simple noise could be the TARDIS fixing her face, _voices_ couldn't. _Voices _was decisively bad.

The Doctor wasn't wrong.

Something could enter.

Something had come in.

Clara pressed her body against the wall in a vain attempt to feel safer, the cold metal sending chills down her spine, as she heard the voices approach.

They became closer.

And closer.

And closer.

The broken whispers became phrases, spoken aloud and clear by metallic voices.

The phrases became shouts, yelled with anger and hatred.

'_It can't be.'_ Clara thought.

But she knew she was wrong. Her back slipped down the wall and she pressed her knees close to her chest.

"Explore. Explore. Everywhere. The Doctor is near!"

'_Not them, please. Not them.'_ Clara begged, to no one in particular. To anyone, in fact. Whoever could listen. Tears began to roll down her cheeks.

"The Doctor is our enemy. He must be defeated!"

"Please. No." Clara prayed one more time, her voice a broken breath, knowing it was useless. There was no mistake. No other possible explanation. The Doctor had said, those devices capable of detecting regeneration energy were popular in the Time War… and there was no way to misinterpret that shout, that battle cry, that single exclamation filled with a hatred that had lasted centuries… the same word repeated over and over and over…

"EXTERMINATE!"

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**A/N: Yes, this ending was a bit evil, but the chapter was becoming 4000 words long, so I divided it into two. But you must know that even if I'm not the good girl I'd like to be, I love you all ;) You're the best.**


	3. Chapter 3

"The Doctor will be exterminated! Detect him! Detect him! EXTERMINATE!"

Multiple dalek shouts reached her ears, and Clara knew they were close. Her legs were weak as she tried to hold herself up, supporting herself with one arm on the wall. She wiped up her tears brushing her face with the sleeve of her shirt, trying to bury all the painful memories of her echoes dying shot by Daleks, and especially the memory of Oswin Oswald, turned into a Dalek puppet.

"EXTERMINATE!"

They were so close now, that Clara could hear their movements. Trying not to panic, using every inch of her self-control, she started to walk, slowly, turning left where she had previously turned right, dragging her feet on the floor to avoid any noise that could alarm the aliens. As soon as she turned the corner, she began to walk faster.

"EXTERMINATE!"

Fear made her blood rush madly in her veins. Her heart pounded relentlessly with absurd strength and speed in her chest, maybe afraid that each heartbeat could be the last. After a few metres, Clara couldn't take the tension anymore and she ran, ran with everything she had in her legs, her lungs forgetting to breathe, her mind completely blank with terror. The Doctor always said, always thought she was brave: she wasn't. She was for him, with him, when he was in danger or when he was by her side, and everything was going to be okay. Not now. Not like this, alone and hunted by the memories of her echoes and overwhelmed by the thought that the Doctor was alone as well, that he wasn't safe, that she wasn't there for him and that, even being with him, there was nothing she could do. What could a humble human do in front of a group of Daleks, apart of being shot in his place?

Something she would do gladly, anyway. Because, gods, she still loved him. Even with a new face, even with a new him running around that she didn't know yet, Clara knew her feelings hadn't changed. Because she had saw all -_all_- his faces, and loved each of them. Even meeting his Time-War-self, the one that even the Doctor had despised and abhorred, not for one second she had felt repulsion or disgust. She had talked to him like to an old friend, understanding what his older selves hadn't understood yet: that he hadn't done _it _yet. Even when her Doctor, the loving boy, the madman, the wise young-ancient man, had his hand on the big red button, she had cried, but not because she was deluded or frightened of what he intended to do. No. No, she had just cried because she was sorry. Sorry for him, who didn't understand he was better than that and that he was, always had been and always would be a good man.

"Exterminate!"

The voices were trailing off, and Clara noticed that she had been running for long and that she was breathless. She started to breathe heavily, having forgotten to do that at all while running, sharply inhaling cool air, her legs suddenly aching for the effort of such a run. Before she could realize it, her knees were hurting more than ever in her many lifetimes, lifetimes spent running towards the Doctor.

Without noticing, she was walking again, her feet barely capable of keeping her standing. How far had she run? Clara didn't know. She kept walking, afraid of what could happen if she stopped, if she looked behind.

'_Don't stop, don't look behind'_ the Doctor's words echoed in her mind.

'_Brave, brave Clara.'_

"I'm not brave," she sobbed, "not when you're not with me."

Clara kept walking, not knowing where she was going, trusting that for once, just for once, the Old Girl could help her, hoping that the ship wasn't too busy with her regeneration to keep an eye on her. But, if Daleks could enter so easily…no. No, Clara didn't want to think of the worst, not even in the most desperate situation. No, she wouldn't give up to pessimism. She did still have hope. She had always been there for the Doctor, but he had always been there for her too. And Clara trusted him with her life. He would come.

Her steps became surer as the pain lessened and her hope grew: she hadn't heard Daleks in a while and more time passing meant more chances for the Doctor to wake up soon and find her, to be together once again.

Clara waited, walking, for long minutes.

Then for never-ending hours.

At some point the human decided she was walking in circle. Same doors, same turns…almost. Clara understood that somehow she was going back where she had started to run. Unwillingly, but inevitably.

She was so tired and so lost in thoughts of how much she wanted the Doctor to be on her side, holding her hand, making her feel brave again, that she didn't notice the voices become close again.

"Exterminate!"

The shout abruptly shook Clara from her thoughts and, unintentionally, she let out a scream.

Clara ran, fast, forgetting exhaustion, knowing that the Daleks would now chase her. At an intersection, she tuned left, ending up in a long corridor, turning right, then left, then right again, then go straight on for a long while and then… then, even before turning right again she knew that she was in the same corridor where she had previously been. She turned right and, as she expected, she found a wall.

Her heart stopped. No escape. No way out.

"Exterminate!"

Clara tried to run back, retracing her steps, but she knew. She knew that the Dalek was close. Too close. Too late.

"EXTERMINATE!"

The Dalek was in front of her, a few metres away. It turned towards her and its blue-lighted eye stared at her, almost staring into her soul. The human swallowed and shuddered, not knowing if it made sense to show bravery while being killed like this.

So, no good heroic death for the brave, brave Clara Oswald. She had started to imagine her end as a good one. Saving the Doctor's life, dying in his arms, watching tears roll down his cheeks for her loss, maybe telling him she loved him. Nothing of that was going to happen. She was going to die alone, in a damned corridor of that blasted ship, and she could never say goodbye to the Doctor. Maybe he didn't like endings, but sometimes they were needed, and Clara felt guilty about going like this, without saying goodbye, without a good word of consolation for him. After being with him always, she was going to leave him alone right when he needed her most.

The Dalek came closer. Clara broke down on her knees and her eyes became bright with tears. She wasn't ready. She didn't want to go. Not like this.

"EXTER-"

"Oi!"

Clara's heart skipped a beat, and she glanced at the Dalek. If Daleks had emotions -and they weren't supposed to have them- the one in front of her was frozen with fear.

"Oi, I said. Turn to face me when I'm speaking" the Doctor said, a gruff Scottish accent on his lips. He had a TARDIS-blue mug in his hand. His eyes were pure steel. "That girl, she is under my protection" he said, threateningly but never raising his voice. Because this is the Doctor's wrath: unexpected and silent like a sudden tropical storm. It arrives abruptly, without any warning, and it doesn't leave survivors.

As everybody could expect, the Dalek turned, but it wasn't to obey to the Doctor. It was to shoot him.

The Doctor was faster, though. The Dalek wasn't even half-turned as the Gallifreyan threw his mug, hitting the Dalek in the eyestalk, letting the mug hang there, a green, viscid liquid slipping out of it.

"Help! Help! My vision is impaired!" the Dalek yelled.

"Permanently, I fear. Out we go!" the Doctor exclaimed, gesturing at a wall as if opening an invisible door: a doorknob appeared under his fingers, and a door materialized. Before Clara could see what was behind it, the Doctor pushed the blinded Dalek in and closed the door, which returned invisible.

Without a second glance at it, the Doctor ran towards Clara, who was already stepping towards him, and pulled her into a tight hug. The tightest he had ever pulled her in. Clara found the dignity to not cry in front of him again, simply boring her head in his chest. His solid presence against her body was so reassuring that it quickly gave her the strength to suppress her sobs and search for his eyes.

Two ice-blue irises where already waiting to meet her brown ones. He kissed her forehead and tried to smile at her.

"My brave, brave Clara. It's alright now. I'm here."

"I know" she answered, desiring to forget everything as soon as possible. "You're okay?"

"Yes. Perfect shape. This time for real. I slept even too much."

"Wha-what about the other Daleks?" she asked, suddenly remembering hearing more than one voice.

"They are...indisposed" he stated, very coldly, an Oncoming-Storm-glare in his eyes.

Clara shuddered. "What's behind that door-"

"Believe me, you really don't want to know."

This wasn't exactly reassuring. Clara shuddered again. She had suspected something must have changed after the centuries of war on Trenzalore but…she shook her head. Not the right time to discuss. Plus, this wasn't completely unexpected: the Daleks, his oldest enemies, had entered his ship, taken advantage of his weakness and tried to kill not only him, but his companion too, and the Doctor could not bear this. But…Clara knew he didn't give second chances, but this time he didn't seem to have given the first either.

She held him for some moments more, trying to wipe away the nightmare of the last hours, then she broke the hug and let him firmly grab her hand and guide her along the corridors. Clara immediately noticed that his grip on her hand was different. Firmer, surer, tighter. It wasn't the gentle and shy hold of his former self.

After some minutes of awkward silence, Clara had recovered enough to try a conversation:

"What was that green rubbish you got in that mug, anyway?" she asked, fully certain that it couldn't be worse than fish fingers and custard, only to discover she was completely wrong.

"Cabbage-shake" he answered, smirking.

"You're kidding."

"Nope. It's good for my kidneys. They're still miscoloured."

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**A/N: I hope I made you laugh with the last lines ;) I really care about your thoughts, so please keep reviewing :) Reviews make me happy when they are good, which usually means I'm a good mood for writing more, and make me pensive when they're bad, which hopefully leads to me becoming a better writer.**

**In case you were wondering, yes, it is true that cabbages are good for your kidneys' health.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I am truly sorry it took me a month to update, I had exams to enter university so I was busy studying or too nervous to write (I was accepted though, so it was worth it!) I understand if you hate me, I can promise it won't happen again. I wanted to update as soon as I could, so maybe I made more mistakes than usual, sorry, I will check again later on.**

**Wait until tomorrow for the update of my other fic, sorry about that as well :(**

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The next morning (if mornings did exist in the Time Vortex) Clara entered the console room: the TARDIS really had redecorated. There light was a lot more blue and dim, and the lines of the console were gentler. The new Doctor waiting for her took her by surprise. She remembered that he had regenerated, but she wasn't used to it yet. Clara knew she was surely making a face, and he confirmed that as his eyes darkened. He looked hurt, and Clara immediately felt guilty: she hadn't done that on purpose, but anyway she didn't like hurting him.

"Hello" she said.

"Hello" the Doctor replied.

He immediately noticed she hadn't said 'Hello, Doctor' but just 'Hello', and that she hadn't smiled at him or hugged him and kissed his cheek to say 'good morning'. He would never admit it, but it hurt: even though she knew he was the Doctor now and accepted it, it didn't come natural to her. With regeneration -and probably also with lying to her on Trenzalore- he had lost that friendly intimacy that he had gained with her, which he now longed for like never before.

Also, the Doctor didn't need his extraordinary brain to understand Clara had had nightmares: she looked tired and sad and her skin was dark around her eyes, barely hidden by the light make-up she usually wore. After a long moment of awkward silence, he spoke:

"You shouldn't worry about the monsters in your dreams, they're only in your head, you know" he said.

He didn't do feelings, he didn't do emotions. He remembered how his younger self used to take turns with Rory to handle Amy's emotions, and he felt even worst this time. He had a feeling this face was rubbish at this, but he had tried just because he hated to see her sad.

"I know, you know" she retorted sharply.

"_See? Rubbish." _the Doctor thought.

"I felt like I was supposed to say something" he muttered.

That was so unexpected that made Clara giggle.

"It's not working" she said.

"Oh really? Why are you laughing, then?" he asked, smirking.

Finally, Clara actually grinned and stepped closer to him, lightly shaking her head in playful resignation.

"Come on, Old Boy. Show me the stars." Clara demanded, smiling.

The Doctor gave her a wide, slightly manic grin, the one he always showed at some point in each of his faces, and hurried to the console.

As he pulled levers walking around the console, Clara took her time to study him. His moves were lean and elegant, deliberate and plain, so different from the casual, clumsy bouncing about of the younger Doctor. He made her think of some careful predator, like a silver wolf. He looked at the same time more serene and more thoughtful, compared to the sorrowful but energetic nature of his predecessor.

As they landed, he gallantly opened the doors for her.

~oOo~

Clara understood he was doing this for her, trying to take her to some place fun without running for their lives implied, like he had tried with their first adventure at Akhaten. But he was the Doctor and the TARDIS, even when she took him where he wanted, always took him when trouble needed to be solved.

So the Doctor had taken Clara to New Paris (New New New New New Paris, to be precise), and he seemed to succeed in his intent. The streets were lovely in the late afternoon, the red-and-orange sunset of two small twin suns making the atmosphere truly magic with a nice, dim light…but the streets were oddly half-empty, the Gallifreyan and the human almost the only people walking, the few staff members glancing nervously at them through the shop windows. The city looked half-desert and the atmosphere was tense, but nor the Doctor nor Clara had noticed. Or better, they had noticed but they hadn't given any importance to it.

The Doctor and his companion walked hand in hand as the Time Lord told the girl everything he knew about that city, planet and solar system. This incarnation was different from most of the others, though: he didn't talk continuously at 100 miles per hour, hardly pausing to breathe. Instead, he had moments when he paused almost suddenly and stayed silent for minutes, as if lost in deep thoughts he didn't want to share, eyes darkened and more wrinkles forming on his forehead. Interrupting one of those moments, Clara almost involuntarily asked:

"How do you feel?"

She didn't know why she had asked, but the Doctor seemed so absorbed in his reflections that he looked like he was trying to find himself and, searching, was only finding more mysteries and doubts.

The Doctor turned to face her, a hesitant half-smirk on his lips that Clara supposed was the equivalent of the little cute smile of his former self.

"You know when you go to… the hairdresser and say 'okay, do what you want' and he styles your hair in a completely different way and you look at the mirror and you don't know if it looks like you? You almost don't recognise yourself just because your appearance changed? I feel like that."

Clara nodded absentmindedly, half of her brain reflecting on what he had said and the other half wondering when she would get used to his new voice and the Scottish accent.

Before they could fall in another moment of awkward silence -which had happened more than once in the last hours- they turned left and found themselves in the most important boulevard, which was a bit more crowded and lead straight to the New Eiffel Tower. Clara suddenly stopped walking at its sight.

The new Tower had gentler lines than the earthly one. It had basically the same shape, but the metallic structure was gone, or at least it wasn't visible, and the Tower looked like the original but seemed covered with modelling clay or something, white and slightly glowing. It was quite a beautiful sight, particularly in that moment when the sky was getting dark. Clara's mouth fell open in amazement, and she could hear the smile in the Doctor's voice as he spoke:

"Each New Paris built its own Eiffel Tower. This one has always been my favourite, it's quite clever. The structure of the Tower is covered with a particular kind of plants that grows in the forests of the third planet of this system, Karan-Tur. It's a kind of musk which possesses a natural phosphorescence. That's why the Tower glows" he explained. "And it smells good as well" he added, chuckling.

The Doctor smiled. He loved showing new things to Clara, and he liked the amazed expression on her face when he did so. A light shiver ran down his spine as he noticed how beautiful she was, the dim light making her skin glow and the lightest breeze playing with her long, dark hair.

"It's beautiful, Doctor." Clara said, "Can we get closer?"

The Tower was less than a kilometre away.

"Of course. That's what I had in mind. There is a lift to the top. We could go have a look." he answered, smirking.

"I thought you weren't one for plans." Clara said, smiling.

"New face, new rules."

The Doctor had just finished the sentence when they heard an explosion: a second later the base of the Tower was on fire.

~oOo~

The Doctor and Clara had a hard time running towards the Tower between the many people running in the opposite direction, and the Time Lord didn't bother looking back to Clara as her hand left his, assuming that she was probably just trying to avoid bumping into someone and certain that she would be right behind him.

As the Doctor got close to the Tower, already able to feel the heat of the flames in the air, he realized just how bad the situation was: a maniple of human soldiers wearing grey uniforms and a few policemen were desperately trying both to extinguish the fire and to save the few people who were still on top of the Tower.

A young brown-haired soldier approached the Doctor, carrying his gun with both hands.

"You can't stay here, sir. This place is now under the responsibility of the Per-human Army. Leave now or I will be forced to escort you-"

The Doctor interrupted the soldier, rapidly showing him his psychic paper. The human turned pale and instantly saluted the Doctor.

"I-I beg your pardon, General Smith, I-"

"You can call me 'the Doctor'. Consider it a code name. What's your name, soldier?"

The Time Lord took a mental note: he quite liked the salute, this time round.

"Kinds. Sergeant Alan Kinds, sir. May I ask, why would you honour us with your presence, sir?"

"Just passing by. What's happening here?"

Alan looked startled and gave him a questioning look.

"Sir?"

The Doctor wasn't exactly using his best military talk. He knew better than that.

"I demand a detailed report of our current situation."

"The Sontarans attacked, sir" -the Doctor tried to prevent his eyes from widening, succeeding only partially- "we didn't expect them to make a move directly against the city, the last reports attested their position miles away from here. It was quick, just sabotage. The arsenal that was under the Tower is lost. We haven't killed or caught any of them, they placed the explosives and ran, unseen. The guards are dead, and there are some wounded between civilians…" -he turned to check the others still trying to extinguish the fire- "…but the fire will be sorted soon. We have the situation under control."

"I know it may sound like an odd question, but take it as test: can you tell me how did this war begin, hmm?" He needed to know exactly _when_ he had landed. He honestly hadn't check, as always.

The soldier hesitated, a bit doubtful, then started: "Three years ago, the Sontarans declared war, to claim the still inhabited parts of the planet, which were vast since this is the only big city and only the nearby areas were colonized in the first place. We weren't willing to give up the planet because we had got here first, so the war started. The Sontaran spaceships besieged the planet, but our fleet was ready and our sky defences were strong. Sometimes we won, sometimes we lost. But none of the armies got an overwhelming victory. We became worried that the war could last years without a winner, so no wonder that we accepted almost instantly when the Sontarans asked for peace."

The Doctor nearly choked on his breath. The Sontarans, the most belligerent race in the universe, who loved a battle like a child loves Christmas, had asked for _peace_?

Alan went on: "The treaty was easy, really. Quite fair. Half of the planet to us, half to the Sontarans. Half of the planet, the half still uninhabited, instead of a decades-lasting war. We accepted gladly, but it was a trap. It was a simple stratagem to obtain some territories, set their headquarters and attack us from both sky and ground."

The Doctor listened carefully. Sontarans. Per-humans, one of the many races that descended from humans. A planet split into two. He had read that story: the Per-humans would win, the Sontarans would have to retreat. At some point in the war, a scientist would invent a new weapon, based on chemicals, and the Per-humans would use it, ignoring all interplanetary rules, to end the war they were going to lose otherwise.

The Gallifreyan frowned. He didn't like the situation he had bumped into. That particular war had been (or was going to be) extremely cruel, violent, almost feral: Sontarans weren't exactly fairplayer and, let's admit it, Per-humans weren't either. The Doctor could also feel something approaching, a fixed point, probably a pitched battle. He had to be quick if he didn't want to become part of the events and be forced to stay until history was decided. No, he wasn't going to put Clara through all that. He had put her through so much already. He turned to face her:

"I made a decision, Clara. We are leaving now-"

Both his hearts skipped a bit when he saw that Clara _wasn't behind him_.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hey, it took me a while to update, sorry about that. I'm very busy and I can't write all the time I'd like to, sadly. Hope you enjoy the chapter :)**

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Clara knew she had lost her way. Just a second, the time to avoid someone running in the opposite direction, she had left the Doctor's hand. Clara was small and the Doctor ran fast: and she had lost sight of him in an instant in the crowd. She knew he had headed to the Tower, but without him it was difficult to walk towards it because of the many people doing the opposite. She had got there after several minutes and there was no sign of him -or of anyone at all.

Clara supposed he had noticed her absence and had gone back to the TARDIS. Even if he were looking for her somewhere, he would surely return to the TARDIS in the end. The best thing she could do was go back herself, but she suddenly realized she didn't have a clue on where she was. Of course, she remembered from which boulevard she had reached the Tower square, but nothing more than that, nothing more than a direction. Sighing in resignation, she started to walk that way.

The girl didn't like the idea of the Doctor wandering alone. He always got into trouble. No matter how different this incarnation was, that was something that would unlikely change. Clara didn't know why she was so… protective, with him, a fully grown up man for possibly every species in the universe. She could only assume it was instinct as she was a nanny and a teacher and he was a huge child inside, had been nothing more than a teenager even physically in his last body. Looking at it in a rational way, there was nothing rational in her desire to keep him safe, to protect him, to do anything for him. But love isn't rational, is it?

It wasn't like she wasn't fearing for herself, alone in a foreign city -foreign _planet_- with the night already dark and the streets empty…but she always forgot to worry about herself, someway. He came first, always, and she realized only later that she was in trouble herself. It was a wrong attitude, she knew that, totally against natural self-preservation, but she couldn't help it.

Clara knew she wasn't going in the right direction. She didn't remember a thing of the streets she was walking, which were getting narrower, darker, dirtier. The kind of streets that her Victorian echo's memories -and others- clearly identified as 'not to be walked alone'.

After a while, she noticed a sensation, like an itch in the back of her head: that feeling you get when someone is watching you. She started glancing back every few steps, trying to confirm her suspects. She saw nothing at first, but then, just for a second, she took a glimpse of a shadow. The shadow of someone, following her. Clara started to walk faster, and she heard many hurried steps behind her. Running seemed useless, so she took a deep breath and turned to face whatever was chasing her. While moving, she heard shots and once she was facing the way she had come from she saw this: three Sontarans, who had apparently been following her, and behind them the Doctor and two men in grey uniforms. In order, Clara noticed the following things: the gun in the Doctor's hand, the frozen expression on the Sontarans' faces as they fell on their knees, dead, and the Doctor's eyes fixed on her, steel-grey.

~oOo~

"I can't believe you're leaving like this!" Clara said, almost shouting, as the Doctor roamed around the console, pulling levers.

The Doctor hadn't said a word or looked at her all the way to the TARDIS, but she didn't need anything else but his eyes, that second on the street, to know that there was a storm inside him, waiting to come out. So she had been silent, till now.

"I don't mind what you believe in, Clara Oswald. That's what I'm doing, and you're not the boss of me" he retorted coldly.

He was trying to hold back and stay calm, but he wasn't going to succeed, he knew that.

The second he had realized that Clara was in danger and he wasn't with her, he had hardly been able to think straight. He had needed all his self-control gained in centuries to think coldly, rationally. He had organised the defences of the city and took enough men to search for her. He had been mad with concern…no. With utter fear.

He was angry with himself because he had lost sight of her, he hadn't looked after her, he had…taken things for granted, taken _Clara_ for granted, when he should know that he could _so easily_ lose her. He was angry with himself, but he was in a way, in this body, which wouldn't allow him to regret anything or blame himself. So he blamed Clara.

"They're _at war_, you can't just _leave_!" she said, following him around the console.

"They're going to _win_" he answered, exasperated, briefly facing her before pushing another button, "_What's the use_ of me messing everything up?"

"You could save lives! You always do! Many more could survive if you just help them!"

"I can feel something approaching. What if it's a fixed point, hmm? We couldn't leave for _God knows_ how much. And we would be in the midst of one of the most violent wars _ever fought_. _I am not_ risking _my_ life, _and yours_, for the ones of some strangers!" He pulled a last lever and the TARDIS began to dematerialize with her usual noise.

"You used to care about 'strangers'" Clara said, grabbing the lapels of his jacket to force him to face her.

"Never, _never_ over the ones that were closer to me" he replied sharply, his eyes a few millimetres from hers. "_Never_, do you hear me?"

He had always cared more about his companions, but he had made _mistakes_ in the past. Tried to save the day despite his life, despite the life of the ones he loved. Ten and ten times more. Why didn't he just _leave_, and save them? What, just because he was the last of his kind -not anymore, by the way- he didn't have the right of being a bit selfish and choose who he wanted to save? He had thought he hadn't. He used to think that his hands were soaked with the blood of his own people and therefore he didn't deserve anything. But now, now he knew the truth and yes, he was going to be selfish, for once. For all the times he had been altruist and sacrificed himself.

"This isn't you. You know better than this." Clara stated, voice broken, eyes slightly bright.

"This isn't me, hmm? Let me tell you one thing, Clara Oswald: _you don't know me_. Not yet. I've spent centuries of my life on Trenzalore, you _don't know_ what it did to me. I'm never letting time, or destiny, or whatever choose for me again. I will never end up stuck in a situation like that again."

"It was your choice to stay!"

"Can you really choose when you don't have an alternative?"

"You had one, but you used to know which the right thing to do was."

"The right thing? And who should tell me what's right and what's wrong? The law? I've never listened to any."

"You used to have rules."

The TARDIS landed with a small *tud*.

"_My_ rules. And _I _can change them."

Clara shook her head. "When you'll cleared your mind, I'll be in my bedroom" she said, turning towards the corridors.

"No. You're going home."

Clara froze. "Are you leaving me?"

That shook the Doctor's spirit in a way he hadn't expected. "No" he said, taking her hand in his and locking her eyes with his. "Never. Unless that's what you want. I want time for myself, to think. I will come next Wednesday."

The girl looked straight in his eyes, now of a surprisingly light blue. The Doctor had always been made of opposites, always been capable of changing mood in a second. And now like never before. Clara hesitated before asking the question that had been suspended between them since Christmas…

"Will you? Will you come back?"

"I will. I have no way to prove you that I'm telling the truth, but I will come back."

The Doctor wasn't even sure he could lie to her with this face the way he had done on Trenzalore: looking straight into her eyes, telling he would never leave her again when he had intended to leave her forever.

Clara glanced away. She would never stop trusting him, if with trust you mean keep believing a person won't disappoint you even though he has disappointed you again and again, keep believing he will speak the truth even though he has lied to you again and again.

The human left the Doctor's hand and opened the doors.

"See you."

"Yes" he replied.

~oOo~

The Doctor didn't go flash-forward to next Wednesday, for once.

He went adventuring, testing his new body, taking his time to discover himself. He was reckless, nothing scared him. No danger was too much for him when he knew that Clara was safe at home.

And he took time to think, as he had said.

The Gallifreyan was more than worried by the way his young companion affected him. He should have noticed that something was wrong, that day in New Paris, but he hadn't. Why? Because when Clara was around he could hardly think straight. He had been too busy admiring the way the light played with the beautiful brown of her her hair at sunset to pay attention to what was around him. He didn't need to think much about it to know he was head over heels in love with her. He knew that already, of course. He hadn't needed a lot of time to start fancying her, but he hadn't known who she was back then, and part of his hearts still belonged to River Song. He had needed a jump in his time stream and a tearful goodbye to his wife to clear up his mind…and the second he had understood, on Trenzalore, that he could never get out of that planet alive, he had also understood he was in love with Clara and he would never forgive himself if something were to happen to her. So he had sent her away, also because he couldn't bear the thought of burying her, of saying goodbye. He would be happy to know she was alive, somewhere, somewhen on Earth, even though he could not see her again.

No wonder he had fallen for her: she was clever, brave, cared about him like no-one else and never accepted 'no' as an answer…just like a young blond girl who had stolen his hearts so much time before. Rose and Clara had so much in common. They were different, of course, but the story hadn't changed: a good, beautiful, gentle young woman had helped him in his darkest times, made him a better man, he had slowly, inevitably fallen for her innocence, so different from the blood-soaked man he believed himself to be, then he had regenerated and she had been the first face he had seen. When something like that happened with someone you already loved, your hearts would belong to that person. No way to escape. He could never love anyone but Clara Oswald in this life, just like he couldn't love anyone but Rose Tyler in his tenth.

It was a different kind of love -purer, tenderer- compared to his love for River. River had been a whole other business, being _like him_. A liar, someone ready to do any sort of things, especially if he was in danger, she wasn't nice or delicate or innocent. She wasn't shy and accommodating, she had pushed him in their relationship, not really caring if he was okay with that…and he had loved that. Because in that life he had needed someone to push him to do the things he hadn't the bravery to allow himself, and someone able to take every bit of him, good or bad, luminous or dark, and accept it, love it. And River Song had been that person.

Now everything was different, he had learned that it was useless to hold back and play the role of the best friend like he had done with Rose: separation hurt anyway. He wouldn't be able to hold back, anyhow: he didn't need much time to understand that this incarnation was a man of short temper and rough passions. Something that scared him, by the way: he had a feeling he could tear the universe apart for Clara, for her and her only, to keep her safe and alive and by his side.

The Doctor spent time figuring out how to behave. He was sure that Clara had loved the younger Doctor, but she would need time to get used to this new him. He couldn't rush things. And after all, he didn't want to. He needed time himself. Getting involved in a life-changing relationship wasn't something that he trusted leaving to a newly-regenerated, untested him.

When he had 'cleared his mind' -Clara's words- he went to her next Wednesday.


End file.
